Echoes of the Past
by AtlantisGirl12
Summary: Hiding out in Mombasa after a job, Eames and Arthur find themselves at the mercy of two sadistic men looking for revenge. Will Dom be able to rescue them in time? NO SLASH, but tons of angst!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N (AtlantisGirl12): **This story is the product of a collaboration between Feathered Filly and I. We have greatly enjoyed working together on this project and we hope you enjoy what we've come up with! :) I know I'm uber excited! :D One important note though: this story DOES **NOT **CONTAIN SLASH. There are now tons of stories in this fandom that do, but this one will not. My personal opinion is that there is nothing romantic between any of the male characters in the movie and this story will reflect that. Sorry if this comes across as harsh, but I just don't want anyone interpreting our story as having slash. This **will**, however, explore in detail the bond that Dom, Eames, and Arthur all share, which is familial/brotherly. Hope you enjoy the story!

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**A/N: (Feathered Filly): **I haven't written any actual fanfic in more than five years and my last collaboration was close to two years ago. However, these three characters of Inception, Arthur, Eames and Dom, instantly captured my heart and managed to make me completely infatuated with them and their brother-like relationship. You have the squabbling younger brothers, Arthur and Eames, and the older more mature older brother, Dom. These guys have to be three of my all time favorite fictional characters, and when I love certain characters, I can't help but put them through extreme angst and hurt/comfort... I like to hurt the ones I love. And that's exactly why this collaboration has gone so amazingly well. It's like AtlantisGirl and I share the same brain or something, because our thoughts and ideas are all so eerily similar. Working with AtlantisGirl has definitely been my favorite collaboration, simply because the two of us work so amazingly well off each other... not to mention because she's so talented as well as friendly. I hope you readers have as much fun reading our story as we did creating it. :)

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**Echoes of the Past**

**Prologue**

Eames strained at his restraints as the man walked around Arthur's motionless form. The point man was slumped in the chair, his chin on his chest, held up only by the tight ropes that bound him. The pool of blood below his chair continued to grow from the rivulets running from various places, alarming Eames. How much blood could one lose and still live? Arthur's face was already pale as death. Only by straining his eyes could Eames see the tell-tale rise and fall of his chest. Otherwise, he would have feared the point man dead already.

"Aw, is dear old Arthur still with us?" The man's voice rang out with cruel laughter. He poked Arthur roughly, causing his head to loll limply to the side. "Terribly rude, don't you think, old chap?" The man mocked Eames' British accent. He walked over to the forger and leaned in close, his face mere inches from Eames'. "I say we wake him up again. Wouldn't want him to miss out on all the fun." He laughed at the fear in Eames' eyes.

"Please don't," the forger whispered. Arthur couldn't take much more.

The man laughed at the fear in Eames' eyes. "Was that actual begging I heard?" His face suddenly lost all mirth and he stared at Eames with cold malice. "Sorry, old boy. "Fraid you're not going to get your wish this time." He looked back at his accomplice who stood ready next to Arthur. "Do it."

And Eames could only watch in horror as the other man obeyed.

oOo

**Chapter 1**

The Mombasa heat beat down mercilessly. Scores of people—men in their _kikoi_ and women in their long _bui_ _buis_ and _hijaabs_—trudged along the narrow streets, in and around tiny cars.

"Tell me again why you chose this of all places to hide out." Arthur loosened his tie a little bit more. Despite the heat, he wore a three piece linen suit and his hair was carefully gelled back.

"Don't tell me you're complaining, darling." Eames took a sip from his wine glass. Though he was technically wearing "business" attire, his slacks were un-pressed and his white shirt was wrinkled and spotted. Several buttons were undone, baring his chest in what Eames liked to call the "suave, debonair" look.

"I mean, look at this place," Eames continued. He gestured at the dark—and rather grimy—bar he, Arthur and Cobb now sat in. "You can't find posh places like this in Paris or London." He elbowed Dom. "Right, old man?"

The extractor, who had been ignoring the other's banter with practiced ease, merely made a non-committal grunt.

Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Well, pardon me," he sarcastically mimicked Eames' accent, "but my idea of posh is a little different than yours."

The forger grinned wickedly. "I know, I bet you're pining for some raven-haired French beauty, right?" He elbowed the younger man and gave him a cheeky grin.

Dom had been gazing off in the distance, his eyes focused on some distant memory only he could see, but now he set his glass down with an audible thud at Eames' careless words. Arthur glared at Eames and pressed on his foot none too gently with his dress shoes. At Eames' slight yelp of pain, Arthur jerked his head at Dom. The forger cursed under his breath. _Stupid!_ How could he have forgotten about Mal? It had only been two months since the death of the Frenchwoman and since Dom had been forced to flee the U.S., leaving his two young children behind.

Eames looked over at the extractor. "Ah, Dom, I'm sorry."

The other man took a sharp swig of his tasteless wine. "Don't mention it."

Shifting uncomfortably, Eames glanced at Arthur. The younger man was watching Dom with a guarded expression, but he could still see the concern in the point man's eyes. "I'm going to go see about some more drinks." He went over to the bar. As he waited for the order, he looked back at the table. He could see Arthur leaning over talking earnestly with Dom in low tones.

"Here you go, suh." A bartender set a glass down in front of him.

Without looking, Eames downed the contents in one swift gulp, tapping the table for more. He found himself strangely irritated at the close friendship between Arthur and Dom. Sure, he hadn't known Dom as long as the point man, but it was close—only a matter of a couple years. Taking the small tray of drinks the bartender left beside him, he made his way back to the table. Arthur abruptly ceased whatever he was saying to Dom and sat back in his chair. Eames glared at him, irked that Arthur kept him out of the conversation, though he knew it probably had been about Mal.

"Here." He set down the drinks. The other two men accepted theirs without a word. Eames frowned. "Come on, let's talk of better things, shall we? How about that job we did, eh?" He raised his glass. "Nice bit of work, I say."

Dom raised his head. "If they don't catch up with us."

Arthur shook his head. "They won't. I made sure all our tracks were covered. They'll have no idea who did it or that it was even done to them."

"Oh great, I feel so safe. Dear old Arthur has taken care of everything," Eames mocked. His eyes flicked over Arthur's form. "Lighten up a bit, old chap."

The younger man's eyes narrowed. "I simply was stating that there were no loose ends; I did my job and I did it right," he said tersely.

Eames snorted, but deep down he knew Arthur did a good job. He was one of the best, though Eames would never tell the stuffy bore that. He chuckled inwardly at the point man's still annoyed expression. It was just too easy at times to push those buttons.

"So where were we?" He lifted his glass. "Ah yes, getting drunk. Let's finis—"

Dom gripped Eames' arm. "Look." He nodded his head toward the bar window. A black SUV had pulled up across the street.

"No loose ends, eh?" Eames remarked snidely to Arthur.

Arthur glared at him. "It's not the men from the job. They wouldn't be operating this way."

The car doors opened and two men in black leather jackets got out. One was tall, with dark brown hair and eye hidden by dark sunglasses. The other was slightly shorter, but a little burlier. He had a distinctive square jaw with a mouth that looked like it wanted to stretch into a cruel sneer. Both were lean and muscular.

"It can't be…" Dom narrowed his eyes.

"Andrew," Arthur breathed.

Eames felt his stomach clench. "I thought he was still in prison?"

"It doesn't matter," Dom hissed. "We've got to get out here and fast. If they see us here…"

"We're dead," Eames finished.

Arthur glanced around. "There's a back door in the room behind the bar."

"We'll split up," Dom ordered. "Run for at least 10 minutes; drop any tails. If Andrew somehow found out that we were here, he might have more than just one man. Don't take any chances." He turned to Eames sharply. "You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah." The forger grimaced.

"Dom, I don't see them anymore; they must be coming in." Arthur's voice was low, urgent.

"Alright, get ready. We'll meet at the incense shop five blocks down."

No sooner had Dom finished when the door burst open.

"'Ello, gents!" Andrew, the shorter man they had seen outside, stood in the doorway with the other man, his mouth stretched in a cruel grin. "Miss me?" He pulled out a .45 and leveled it at them. "I did."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: (Feathered Filly):** My goodness! I'm so ecstatic that this little story of ours has been so amazingly well received! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, alerting and faving. I forgot how much fun it was to get such incredible feedback and to interact with you wonderful readers! Once again, this collaboration has been so much fun and I'm so glad you guys are enjoying what the two of us have come up with!

**A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): **Echoing Feathered Filly, thank you all so much for the reviewing, alerts and favorites! It really inspires the writing cells! :D I hope you enjoy this next installment as much as we did planning/writing it!

**Important Note!** Something we both forgot to mention last chapter: The story takes place a little more than a year- 14 months to be exact, before the movie. We've also taken a tiny bit of liberty with the guys' ages. Since none of their ages were specifically mentioned in the movie, we decided to make Arthur 25, Eames 30 and Dom 33. **~Feathered Filly**

**Chapter 2**

As Andrew's finger tightened on the trigger, patrons started to scream and run for the exits. Dom leaped up, knocking over his chair.

"Now!" he shouted. He turned over the table and ducked along with Eames and Arthur just as a shot careened into the wood.

Another shot clipped the top of the table just above Eames' head and he ducked down even further. "Well, isn't this a nice little pickle," he grumbled sarcastically. "Brilliant plan, Dom."

The extractor ignored the words and pulled out his gun, with Eames and Arthur following suit. No one in the dream business with any sense of self-preservation went anywhere unarmed for precisely reasons such as this. Revenge and retribution as well as arguments over petty issues made for a dangerous game and one quickly learned to watch one's back.

Another shot rang out, this time from the other direction. Eames glanced behind him. Andrew's accomplice had gone around back. Now they were effectively pinned down between the two men. Neither had a clear shot, but this good fortune would not last forever.

"Dom, we have to move." Arthur's voice was calm, in spite of the bullets peppering the room. Sirens could now be heard in the distance and were rapidly getting louder. It was bitter irony that they couldn't wait it out for the police to arrive. As a federal fugitive, Dom could ill-afford to be taken into custody since he would be immediately extradited to the U.S.

"Thank you for your insight, Arthur. Neither Dom nor I could possibly come up with that on our own."

"Enough!" Dom's voice was clipped and tight with anger as he cut off Eames' snide remark. He peered around the corner and fired off a shot. "We've got to get to that back door." He craned his neck around to look over his shoulder. The open back door beckoned, tantalizingly close.

"Give it up, Dom!" Andrew's voice rang out. "You've got no chance! You know the police will take you in and you'll never see those darling children again. Might as well come with me. I just might give you a chance." He laughed and chambered some more rounds.

"I'll keep him talking," Dom whispered. "Then I'll lay down covering fire and you two make a break for it. I'll go out the window on the other side. Be careful, the other one has a view of the back." At their nods, Dom raised his voice again. "You're the one who ought to be worried, Andrew! What is it, two against three? Not very good odds, I'd say!"

Arthur checked the magazine of his gun and slid the hammer back. "We're ready, Dom."

The extractor nodded grimly. "Okay. Let's go." He took a deep breath. "One. Two. Three!" He whipped his gun around the corner and began shooting rapidly at the other man, forcing Andrew to take cover as Dom's shots peppered the walls and door behind him. Arthur and Eames sprinted to the back door, firing wildly in the direction of the other man. As they ran, Dom leaped up and ran to the window. He did a quick double-tap and jumped through the window as the glass shattered in front of him from the bullets. He tucked in his body, landing in a roll in the alley outside.

Eames and Arthur quickly split in opposite directions according to the plan, not waiting to see what the men would do. Eames could hear muffled shouting and cursing coming from inside the ruined bar. As he sprinted down to the end of the alley, his exit was suddenly blocked by a police car coming to a quick halt in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, he increased his speed. Just before he ran into the car, he jumped and slid over the top of the hood to the other side, safely landing on the other side and darting back into the street.

"_Awqif! Awqif!_" He heard the police shout after him. He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder, just in time to see Andrew running out of the bar and grabbing a motorcycle from a hapless pedestrian he pushed to the side.

Several shots rang out behind him. Eames cursed under his breath. Great. Now he had Andrew and coppers to worry about. He was already getting winded and now Andrew had a _motorcycle_? Life just wasn't fair. So much for police back-up. Darting another look behind him, he saw the police had jumped back in their cars, but there was no way to turn around quickly in the narrow street. And Andrew was gaining.

Gasping for air, Eames felt his heart leap when he saw an open door a few yards away. With the roar of the motorcycle getting louder, he made a break for the opening.

"Aaah!" A woman screamed to see a dirty white man burst into her pastry shop.

"Sorry, lady," he muttered, already running into the back. He skittered across the tiled floor, bracing himself against the countertops. He ran into the other street and spied a stall selling traditional dress. Digging some coins out of his pocket, he hurried over to the elderly man selling the brightly colored clothes and grabbed several articles off the racks.

"How much? How much?" He gasped out, thrusting his money into the man's hands.

The man jabbered in Arabic, holding up some fingers.

"Come on!" He scowled. He jabbed a hand into his pocket again, only to find it empty. He cursed, remembering the money he had used to gamble and buy the drinks.

The sound of a motorcycle down the street caught his attention and he looked up to see Andrew at the end of the street grinning wickedly.

"You've got to be kidding me." Eames threw the clothing back at the old man. The old man held the money out to him as the forger started to turn away. "Oh, keep it, keep it!" Eames hollered over his shoulder, already sprinting away.

His side started to ache almost immediately and sweat poured down his back and forehead. He weaved in and out among the huge crowd, hoping the bustling marketplace would prevent Andrew from using the motorcycle. Checking behind him, he saw that his plan had worked. The other man had abandoned the bike and was now shoving people out of his way in an effort to catch up to Eames. Only…he hadn't been running as long.

Eames was now breathing in ragged gasps. He kept searching for an open door, but crowded stalls blocked all openings. Wait, there. A side street beckoned him and he raced down it. Another one. He took that turn too. Several twists and turns later, Andrew was no longer in sight…for the moment. He huffed out a sigh of relief when he saw the rendezvous ahead. The neighborhood it was in was deserted, everyone having gone to the marketplace at this time of day as custom.

Eames went around the corner of the building and collapsed in exhaustion against the wall. He pulled out his gun and held it ready. Drawing an arm across his brow, he futilely wiped away the sweat coursing down his face. He leaned his head back and drew in a shuddering breath, trying to control his breathing.

Where were Dom and Arthur? He checked his watch. Okay, he was early. Knowing Arthur and Dom, they would take the full ten minutes and a few extra besides to lose any tails. Not that he blamed them. Running into Andrew was just bad news.

Eames checked his gun, making sure it was loaded. Suddenly, he heard footsteps. They were quiet and slow, as if someone was trying to be as quiet as possible. But it was the unmistakable sound of a dress shoe. Just like the one Andrew was wearing.

Eames held his breath and straightened, every muscle tense and all his senses straining. The footsteps came closer. It sounded like someone was searching for something…or someone. He took a deep breath. Andrew was notoriously fast with a gun. But not this time.

Steadying his nerves, Eames lunged around the corner, his gun at the ready. He caught a glimpse of a man in a suit holding a gun just before he fired. Too late he realized the suit was the wrong color. Andrew wore dark clothes.

Eames watched in horror as Arthur recoiled from the force of the bullet, staggering back a few steps. The point man's own gun clattered to the ground as he pressed his hand to his side where the light cloth was rapidly blossoming red. Arthur held his hands out and stared uncomprehendingly at the bright blood that covered them, as if he couldn't believe that it belonged to him. He looked up at Eames, his dark eyes full of confusion and pain, a question forming on his lips. His body shuddered convulsively in pain and he fell against the side of the white-washed building before slumping to the ground, leaving a trail of coppery liquid behind.

At his fall, Eames felt his body jolt into action. "Nonono!" He raced forward and fell to his knees beside Arthur. "Arthur, I'm sorry….I didn't know…" He pressed his hands against the other's wound, eliciting a cry of pain from the point man. "Sorry, chap." He felt a sharp twinge of guilt, knowing he was the cause of Arthur's pain. "It's got to be done."

Arthur struggled, trying to get away from the pressure digging into his side. "Didn't…didn't know you disliked…me that much," he gasped. "Could have…just told me so." He coughed.

Eames felt a smile tug at his lips in spite of the gravity of the situation. "Only way I could drill it into your thick skull, old boy."

Arthur grimaced. "No…tails, right?"

"No, I think I lost him."

"T-think?"

"Um, pretty sure?"

"Eames!" Arthur's scowl was deepened by pain. He tried to straighten and fell back against the wall with a groan.

Eames looked at him in concern. "Don't try to move."

Arthur huffed at him. "You couldn't…have just shot me…in the arm?"

Eames looked at him apologetically. "I thought you were Andrew."

"I don't know…whether or not…to be in-insulted…or amused."

The sound of hurried footsteps caused them both to pause.

"Dom?"

Eames shook his head. "There're two of them." He hauled Arthur to his feet, clapping a hand over his mouth as the point man cried out from the jostling. "We've got to move," he said by way of apology.

Arthur nodded stiffly, gripping his still bleeding side. Eames pulled his arm over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged his injured teammate down the street.

**A/N: Well there it is! What will happen to our intrepid heroes next? Please review! :D **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): **Sorry for the delay in an update! Thanks to all the new readers who have joined us on this ride and all the ones who are still sticking with this story! Many thanks to all of you who have been reviewing and providing feedback. We both really appreciate it! Let us know your thoughts and ideas of what you think will happen next! I know we are personally excited already for chapter four, but I'm getting ahead of myself so that's all I'm going to say about that! Lol. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. :)

**A/N: (Feathered Filly): **Thanks bunches to all you fantabulous readers. I guess I've finally got my comeuppance for enjoying seeing my favorite characters physically hurt. I took a tumble off a horse and down a hill this weekend, resulting in three cracked ribs (unbelievably excruciating!). Guess now I have first hand knowledge of some of the pain I subject these poor characters to lol!

**Chapter 3**

Eames tried to hurry down the street, but the going was slow as Arthur continued to weaken, leaning heavily on the forger. With the adrenaline coursing through him, Eames felt his senses sharpen even more acutely. The combination of Arthur's ragged breathing and the heavy footsteps running ever closer behind them seemed deafening to his ears.

"Come on, just try to go a little faster," he coaxed the stumbling point man urgently.

"'m trying," Arthur snapped back. His retort lacked any real bite, the pain and exhaustion all too evident in his voice. His foot caught the edge of a doorstep, tripping him. Eames tightened his grasp in an effort to keep him from falling but too late. Arthur slumped to the ground with a gasp, clutching his bleeding side.

"Arthur, we've got to keep moving. Just give me your ha—"

"Just…leave me…Eames." He laid his head back against a wall with a groan. "No use…in him…catching both…of us."

Eames frowned inwardly; sometimes Arthur's practicality was rather harsh. "And no longer have such an excellent target for my witty humor? 'Fraid you're stuck with me, chap," he replied instead. He frowned again as Arthur's answering chuckle turned into a rasping cough. He needed medical attention fast. "Enough dilly-dallying, old man." He hauled the point man to his feet, trying to ignore how the muscles in Arthur's jaw clenched in pain.

Slinging Arthur's arm around his shoulder once more, Eames led them down more eerily deserted streets, trying to make as many turns as possible in hopes of eluding Andrew. Every once in a while, Eames would test doors as they passed them, hoping one would be unlocked and thus provide a temporary hiding place where he could tend to Arthur's wound.

For his part, Arthur remained silent, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. His free hand continued to press tightly against the wound, trying to keep from leaving a blood trail on the ground or on the white walls of the town.

"There!" Eames exclaimed, spotting a door slightly ajar. He pulled Arthur over to the building, which looked more rundown than its neighbors. Pushing the creaky door open, he saw that the door led to dark stairs leading to a basement room. He carefully helped Arthur down, trying to ignore his barely disguised grunts of pain as his side was jarred by the steep steps. As his eyes adjusted to the weak light provided by the open door above them, Eames saw a lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He gave the string a quick yank, hoping against hope that the electricity worked. To his relief, a light, though weak, flickered from the dusty bulb, showing a room relatively empty but for some old newspapers and empty boxes. He helped Arthur lie down beside a dusty wall.

"Eames…" the younger man tried to grip Eames' arm to get his attention, "no exit…door."

The forger winked at him, trying to hide the same uneasiness that lay in his heart. If Andrew did find them, they'd have nowhere to run. "Don't be such a pessimist, pet. Got to keep a stiff upper lip and all that," he said instead. He grinned at Arthur's eye roll. "Be right back, luv."

He hurried up the stairs, chuckling to himself as he heard Arthur's mumbled reply, "Not…your love."

Reaching the top of the stairs, Eames took a quick glance outside. Andrew was nowhere in sight…for now. Still, he shut the door as quietly as he could. Best not to take any chances. He deftly locked the door and jiggled the handle slightly. It wouldn't keep Andrew out if he wanted to come in, but hopefully it would deter him and make him believe no one was here.

Jogging down the stairs, Eames hurried back to Arthur. His felt a clench of fear when he saw the point man's head lying limply to the side, eyes closed.

"Arthur!" He jostled his shoulder roughly.

"O-ow," the younger man moaned.

Eames breathed a sigh of relief. "Just making sure you hadn't checked out, _luv_." He looked at Arthur sharply, noting the lack of a response to his deliberate jibe. His eyes lowered to where Arthur's hand was clamped tightly against his middle. Blood was still leaking through his pale fingers. "Let's have a look at that, shall we?" He started to move Arthur's hand away but stopped at his sharp intake of breath.

"Don't!" Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head back wearily. "Just…don't." Re-opening his eyes, he saw Eames watching him carefully. "Don't want…your fat fingers…damaging anything…vital," he joked.

Eames laughed along, but he could see the pain Arthur was trying so valiantly to hide. They both knew checking and cleaning the wound would hurt…a lot. "Have you ever known me to have anything but fingers of delicacy?"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond and the forger cut him off with a look. "Don't answer that." He leaned forward once more. "Sorry, but it's got to be done."

A sharp nod was all he got from Arthur as the point man forced his fingers to relax and move away. Eames felt a begrudging sort of admiration at Arthur's deliberate act of control over his pain. The forger had been shot before in dreams and knew all too well the pain that made you want to just curl up and die. Feeling it for real…it wasn't something he wanted to experience. Guilt washed over him again, knowing that he was the reason Arthur was lying here injured. With a deep breath, he moved Arthur's hand away completely and unbuttoned his vest and shirt to get a good look at the wound. For a relatively small hole, it continued to bleed sluggishly.

Ripping a clean piece of cloth from his shirt, he dabbed away the blood as gently as he could, making sure no dirt and shirt debris had gotten into the injury. From time to time he glanced at Arthur's face. It was pale and his eyes were tightly closed, but he didn't make a sound. Finally, Eames took Arthur's suit jacket and ripped it into strips, using it to bind the wound.

"You…owe me…a new suit," Arthur growled.

Eames chuckled then sobered as he absently wiped Arthur's blood from his fingers. "The bullet's still in there."

"Could have…told you that…Sherlock…No exit wound."

"Just stating a fact, mate. No need to get fussy about it."

Arthur moaned. "Shut up…Eames." His fingers fumbled at his buttons.

"You could just leave it."

"Don't want…to be undressed…when Andrew…gets here." The button refused to go into its hole and he swore at his failure to complete the simple task.

"Let me." Eames reached over and began buttoning his shirt.

Arthur looked at the wall and Eames felt a surge of remorse, knowing how it must gall the other's pride at having to have someone do it for him. He quickly finished buttoning the point man's shirt and vest.

"Thanks," Arthur mumbled.

"Don't mention it."

They both fell quiet then; the room was silent except for the sound of Arthur's ragged breathing. After several minutes, Eames spoke up. "Here." He started to pick Arthur's head and shoulders up and tug him over to his lap.

"Hey!" Arthur's startled yell lacked power. He visibly jumped, falling out of Eames' grasp and hitting the floor with a groan.

"Take it easy, old boy; just trying to make you more comfortable. Thought it might help your breathing some." Eames frowned to himself, knowing Arthur couldn't see his face. The point man always seemed to be on edge, never letting his guard down except when he was hooked up to the PASIV. And then he was always on guard in the dream. The guy never relaxed, as far as Eames knew.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. It's just me. No need to be so jumpy." He paused. "Now can I move you?"

Arthur made some sort of sound that Eames took to be a yes. More carefully this time, he eased the point man's head onto his lap. Arthur's breathing immediately sounded a lot better.

"So what's your favorite color?

"What?"

"What's your favorite color? Got to have something to pass the time with and I don't think it's a good idea that you go to sleep right now, so this will keep you awake." Eames smiled to himself at Arthur's sound of contempt.

"I'd rather…not say," he answered finally.

Eames chuckled. "Why, is it some girly color like pink?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"Yes! It must be pink!" The forger crowed. "So why pink?"

"Does there…have to be…a why?" Arthur grumbled testily.

"Mate, when it's _pink_…."

"It was…my mom's…favorite." He surprised Eames when he continued. "I like…pink because…reminds me…of her…but it's a...feminine color…so I usually…go with red."

"Ah, so like your totem." Eames studied Arthur, seeing the shadows and pain that stemmed from something not physical—something deeper that had been there for a long time.

Arthur closed his eyes then, hiding his secrets once more. "Yeah…among other…things," he replied wearily.

"So when was your first kiss?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open in surprise at the random question.

"Let me guess, eighteen?" Eames grinned. "Knowing you it was most likely a ripe old age. Buried yourself in the books did you?"

"You didn't…tell me your…favorite color…yet," Arthur retorted.

Eames winked. "Changing the subject now? Tsk tsk….Well, I'll indulge you, being the good friend that I am. I'm rather partial to—"

Footsteps were heard outside and both Eames and Arthur watched the door, muscles tense.

"Got the blood trail over here," a deep voice spoke. It had to be Andrew's accomplice. "It stops but they have to be around here somewhere."

"Well then let's find them, shall we?" Andrew's voice was annoyed.

While the sounds of the two men checking the surrounding buildings were heard above them, Eames pulled out his gun and checked to make sure it was fully loaded.

"Hand me…mine," Arthur whispered.

Eames hesitated. "We've only got several rounds left between the two of us." He held out Arthur's gun. "Can you hold it?"

With a scowl, the point man took the weapon. The barrel wavered for several moments before his hand flopped back to his side. Slowly, he released his tight grip on the gun with an unreadable expression on his face.

Eames took the gun back. Though Arthur tried not to show it, the forger knew it burned him to feel so helpless. Eames hated to have forced Arthur into such a corner, but it had to be done. Being so low on ammunition, they couldn't afford wild shots. As it was, the odds were stacked against them. The bareness of the room afforded no cover and the way the stairs came down meant—if Andrew shot the lock off the door and entered the top of the stairs—it would quickly turn into a free-for-all.

With these thoughts swirling around in his head, Eames felt the guilt begin to overwhelm him. Had he not overreacted, neither he nor Arthur would be here right now with the younger man staving off blood loss. They'd probably be sitting in some dingy hotel room, pretty as you please, with a glasses of port and sherry. Maybe some vodka to spruce things up a bit.

The voices above grew louder. They were going to try this door soon.

"Arthur…" Eames looked down and ran his finger over the barrel of the gun. "I just want you to know—"

"Alright, let's try this door." Andrew's voice cut Eames' off.

"It's locked too." A pause. "Wait, what's that?" Silence.

A sudden shot rang out and the entire door shuddered violently before giving way.

Eames tightened his grip on the handle. It had begun.

**.**

**A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): **Okay, so I apologize for the double author's note, but I have an **important** request! Today (Sept 9) is my birthday so I'm just throwing out a request for a birthday fic from anyone who's interested. Prompt: Arthur-centric where he gets hurt in some way, preferably in reality (though you can also include dreams) and with as much angst as possible. lol **No slash please!** Anyway, hoping someone will want to do this! (pretty please with puppy dog eyes lol)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): First of all, thank you for all the birthday wishes and also a special thank you to everyone who wrote a fic for my challenge! You're awesome! Second of all, I am SO sorry for the long delay in updates! It's my fault. :P I had ¾ of this written a couple weeks ago, but just hadn't gotten around to finishing it. School is a little stressful for me right now; this weekend and next week I will be panicking about my English paper and my linguistics midterm (ick). Fortunately though, both of those will be over next Friday, which is the beginning of my fall break! Yay! So I will try to get a lot of writing done then. :D :D In the meantime, perhaps this chapter will appease the angry mob? Lol Hope you enjoy! **

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**A/N: (Feathered Filly): ****Thank you all for all the kind words and get well wishes! I'm sorry I haven't had the time to get back to each and every one of you personally, but between work, family and personal life things are all extremely stressful and I have very little personal time to myself. Hope you all continue enjoying our story though! Things start to pick up this chapter! :D****  
**

**Chapter 4**

Carefully, Eames lifted Arthur from his lap and lay him down on the dirty floor. Then he moved into a crouch and waited tensely. Above, Andrew and the other man were kicking the door, which dangled from its hinges. Mere seconds had passed before they succeeded in removing it. With a great clatter, the door fell down the stairs, coming to rest a few feet from where Arthur and Eames were.

With the door gone, Andrew was afforded a clear view of the room, especially since Eames had neglected to turn off the light. Not that it would have mattered, the forger reflected ruefully. There was nothing in the room with which to hide behind and if it was indeed true that there were bloodstains outside, the men knew they were there anyway.

"Eames," Andrew called down.

The forger remained silent.

"Come now, no need to play coy. We know you're down there. And I can see your precious point man's with you too and injured at that! Wonder how that happened? _I_ certainly didn't shoot him. Did you, Cavendish?"

The other man shook his head. "Nope, I never even took a shot at him."

Andrew laughed. "So unless dear Arthur took a gun to his stomach—unlikely, I say—the evidence seems to point to our pal Eames! Gotta say thanks, buddy…you're doing our work for us!"

Eames glared at the gloating man. "Shut up, Andrew!"

"Tut-tut," he replied, "no need to get testy. We appreciate the help. How does it make you feel, Arthur, to know your so-called 'friend' is really in cahoots with us?" He chuckled.

Arthur made no answer, and Eames glanced down at him. He felt a sharp pang of fear when he saw the younger man's eyes only half-way open and staring at nothing. He pressed two fingers to his neck. A wave of relief crashed over him when he felt the pulse; it was thready and weak, but still there.

"Give it up, Eames," Andrew yelled down, all playfulness gone from his voice. "We might let Arthur live if you do. If you don't, he's dead for sure."

"Forget it!" Eames shouted back hoping the noise might bring help. He snapped the gun up and took a shot. Andrew jumped back as the bullet clipped the doorframe where he was standing.

"You'll have to do better than that!"

"I intend to," Eames muttered under his breath. He tightened his grip on the handle and looked down at Arthur once more. The point man's slack features gave him an air of youthfulness that Eames had never seen before and at that moment, the forger felt a surge of protectiveness. He knew what needed to be done—not just his sake but for Arthur's as well. The responsibility weighed heavily on him, something he hadn't felt in years.

A shot rang out and Eames ducked as a bullet slammed into the wall behind him.

"We have the tactical advantage, Eames! You've got no chance of making it out of here alive!"

"Oh shut up," Eames muttered. He cocked the gun and took a deep breath. Only two bullets left. They'd have to each count.

"E-Eames…"

He glanced down as Arthur weakly tried to get his attention. "Decided to finally join the party, sleeping beauty?" he quipped, hiding his relief at seeing Arthur somewhat alert.

Arthur groaned. Whether it was from his awful joke or pain, Eames didn't know. "Don't…miss."

"Yeah, thanks for that, love," Eames tossed back sarcastically. He peered up at the doorway. It was still empty; maybe Andrew had been scared off. _Ha, not likely_, Eames thought. He readied his weapon once more, waiting for the moment when Andrew's face would appear. He'd relish wiping that smirk off his face. He didn't have to wait long.

Andrew's henchman poked his head around the doorway and Eames quickly aimed and fired...only to see his shot miss the man by a few inches. He swore under his breath. Things were just so much harder to do in reality!

"Did you…get him?"

"Didn't hear any cries of agony, did you?" Immediately, Eames wished he could take back his terse words. He hated the way Arthur's voice sounded. To anyone who was unfamiliar with the point man, he would sound calm, albeit a bit strained from injury. But Eames had learned to decipher at least some of the little intonations and inflections in the younger man's speech and could detect the barest hint of hopefulness.

Gritting his teeth, Eames raised his gun again. Andrew had no way of knowing how much ammo he had left. That would buy them some time until Cobb could find them. Where was that man anyway?

He whipped the barrel up when a loud clatter came from the stairs. He was just in time to see a small grey cylinder come bouncing down right before the top popped open, releasing a small puff of gas. _Tear gas! _He scooted away as far as possible, dragging Arthur with him. Tugging the edge of Arthur's suit coat, he tried to cover the point man's mouth and nose as much as possible before doing the same.

Despite his efforts, the gas quickly permeated the room and Eames fell against the wall coughing with tears streaming down his face. Dimly, he heard the sound of footsteps running down the stairs. His hand fumbled about, searching for the gun. Someone stepped hard on his hand, stilling his efforts.

"Oh no you don't." Andrew.

With bleary eyes, Eames looked up to see the man wearing some sort of small gas mask, his partner right behind him. Both had their guns trained on the two men. Andrew jerked his head at the other man and he went over to the can and placed it in a duffel bag. Immediately, the room began to clear.

After a few minutes of smirking and gloating, Andrew took off his mask. "Betcha didn't see that one coming, didja Eames." He walked back and forth in front of his captives.

"See you haven't changed, Andrew." Eames coughed. "You still look like a strutting peacock."

Andrew scowled and pinned Eames to the wall by his throat. "And you still have a fat mouth." He backhanded the forger hard. "Oops. Now it's even fatter." He released Eames, who promptly fell back against the wall, coughing. He had forgotten how strong the psycho was. He wiped away the blood trickling from his split lip, glaring balefully as Andrew turned his attention to Arthur.

"Tsk, tsk. Looks like Eames did a real number on you." Andrew toed Arthur's injured side, eliciting a sharp groan.

"Don't touch him!" Eames shouted.

Andrew grinned at him. "But I'm in control now, Eames old boy. You can't tell me what to do."

Eames saw red. He lunged at the man, only to be met with a fist to the gut.

"And don't you forget it," Andrew hissed in his ear. He removed his fist and shoved Eames back. "Tie him up, Cavendish."

The other man held out a piece of rope. "Put your hands together," he commanded.

Eames complied but flexed his wrists, hoping to get some leeway once the ropes were tied and he relaxed his muscles.

"No flexing!"

Rats. This guy knew his stuff. Reluctantly, Eames loosened the muscles in his arms. He grunted when he felt the ropes quickly tighten and cut deeply into his skin. Already he could feel the circulation being slowly cut off.

"And now him," Andrew ordered.

"No," Eames protested. "Can't you see he's too injured to go anywhere?"

Ignoring him, Cavendish proceeded to obey his boss' orders. He roughly flipped Arthur over on his stomach, eliciting a sharp cry of pain which Arthur tried to stifle by gritting teeth. Cavendish quickly tied his hands together and yanked the point man to his feet. "Ready, Boss."

"Good. Go get the van." Andrew turned to where Eames was watching Arthur worriedly as he slumped against the wall for support. Due to the location of his wound, the point man couldn't stand upright, instead hunching over in a futile attempt to curl himself inwards. As Arthur began to sway, Eames started to go over to him before he fell over.

"Uh-uh," Andrew warned him. "Move an inch and you'll regret it."

Eames ground his teeth and kept moving. "I don't care what you do to me, you little—"

"Ah, but I didn't say I would do anything to you." Andrew turned the gun slightly so that it was aimed at Arthur's leg. "I wonder how long dear Arthur would be able to survive a second shot if it was to his foot? Would the blood loss kill him first or the pain?" He chuckled.

Eames was furious inside but he kept his expression neutral and kept edged a little closer. "Go ahead, do it," he bluffed. "He dies and you won't have any hold over me."

His hope to unnerve Andrew failed. The man only laughed. "Ooh heartless." He walked over to the point man. "How does it feel knowing your pal Eames doesn't care if you live or die? You know, he shot you once…I think he'd like to see it happen again. Matching pair and all that." He rubbed Arthur's shoulder. "Don't let it worry you. Soon it won't matter what Eames thinks of you."

"Get your hand off me," Arthur hissed. He jerked his shoulder and tried to knock the other man off balance. Andrew quickly retaliated, bringing the butt of the gun swiftly across the younger's temple. As Arthur slumped to the ground, he brought the gun up once more to halt Eames' advance.

"Oh no you don't." He leaned casually against the wall. "Might as well get used to it, Eames old boy. You're not going anywhere."

Eames scowled at him before looking back at Arthur. The point man lay on his side, unconscious. A bruise was already blossoming on his temple. _At_ _least he's not feeling any pain_, Eames thought. _Now would be a good time to find us, Cobb!_

After about ten minutes, they heard a vehicle approaching. Andrew edged to the bottom of the stairs and glanced up, carefully keeping his gun trained on Eames and Arthur. Within seconds, Cavendish's head appeared.

"All clear, Boss!"

"Good. Get on down here and lug the skinny one up."

Cavendish hurried down and picked the younger man up into a fireman's carry with a grunt. Eames winced, thinking of the strain on Arthur's wound.

"Alright, now you." Andrew gestured to the stairs. Together they followed Cavendish up the stairs. Eames squinted when he stepped outside. The black SUV was idling next to the building. Cavendish jerked the side door open and dumped Arthur on the floor, who only let out a slight moan at the rough treatment.

"Get in," Andrew ordered.

It was now or never. Eames made a sudden move toward the man. He didn't know exactly what he was doing, but he had to try something. Cavendish quickly grabbed him by the arms as the forger continued to struggle.

"Naughty, naughty. You just won't learn, will you?" Andrew frowned at him and raised his gun.

Eames glared back and turned his head away to see…Dom? His mouth parted in shock just as the gun was brought down forcefully on his head. He felt himself being tossed in beside Arthur and heard a door slam. Then he knew no more.

**A/N: Please review! It really makes our day. :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N (AtlantisGirl12): Hey guys! So…SUPER sorry that this update was so long in coming. School just took over my life for the most part and sapped any energy I had to write. Never fear though; I love our fic too much to give up on it! Posting this chapter and reading all of your reviews have renewed my spirit! A HUGE thank you to everyone who has continued reading and reviewing in spite of the long delay. You are very much appreciated! I hope you guys enjoy this new installment! J **

**A/N (Feathered Filly): Holy donut holes, Batman! Has it really been three months since our last update? Many, many apologies, that wasn't meant to happen. It's just that real life has a way of sneaking up and taking you by surprise. That and I've also just got back from a vacation to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter! Nonetheless, hopefully with the start of the new year (even though I'm going through some pretty rough family drama) this story will be updated at a more frequent pace. That is, if we still have readers interested in this story after such a drought of no updates. Please guys, if you're still interested, please drop us reviews letting us know!**

Echoes of the Past

Chapter 5

**Cobb's POV**

When Andrew had first walked through the bar door, Cobb had known things would go downhill fast. Despite the fact that the odds were two against three, Andrew's sheer determination and ruthlessness made him more dangerous than several men…combined. No, getting out of this one would not be easy. Even the decision to split up had been difficult. Cobb knew both Eames and Arthur were more than capable at taking care of themselves and had been doing so for a number of years. But there was a part of him that worried that someone was going to get hurt and he wouldn't be able to find them.

Dom huffed to himself as he rounded another corner. Until these two, he had never formed ties with people he worked with. _I suppose that's what happens when you become a father,_ he thought. Arthur especially brought out that feeling in him. The point man was so professional and competent that it was often hard to remember he was just a kid.

_They'll be okay. _He had heard no cries of pain as they ran out of the pub, so it was safe to assume they made it out alright. Not hearing any sounds of pursuit behind him, Dom allowed himself to slow down. He paused briefly in the doorway of some decrepit building to catch his breath. Glancing down at his arms, he winced as the myriad of small cuts from the glass made their presence known. Ignoring them for the moment, he checked his gun. One shot left. He swore under his breath. He would need to find ammo fast.

He raised his head as shouts nearby caught his attention. He had already passed the marketplace…they definitely did not sound Arabic or an African dialect. His face creased into a worried frown and he broke into a run once more. He slowed down as they grew louder.

"Get in!"

Dom froze. Andrew. He cautiously approached the corner. Eames was bound and struggling as Andrew's henchman tried to force him into the van. Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Dom felt his heart drop to his feet as he took in the large stain of blood on Eames' shirt. The forger seemed relatively unharmed, meaning it could only be…._Arthur. _

"Naughty, naughty. You just won't learn will you?"

As Andrew raised his gun, Eames glanced up and saw Dom, opening his mouth slightly in shock. Dom saw the shadows in Eames' eyes…and something else too…Grief? Arthur couldn't be dead! He started forward, before remembering his lack of bullets. He saw the forger's eyes fill with remorse just before they slid shut in unconsciousness as Andrew brought his gun down hard on his temple.

The two men threw Eames in the truck and slammed the door shut. "Alright, let's get moving. We'll get Cobb later."

As the van started off, Dom hurried forward, crouched low to the ground. He quickly slipped his last tracking device to the bottom of the bumper, thankful he'd not left it in the room with the rest of their equipment. Darting back into the shadows, he watched the van drive away. He'd go back to the hotel to get the laptop set up and track their location. Then he'd find some ammo, somewhere. _Don't worry. I'll find you, Eames. And Arthur too, wherever he is. _

**Eames' POV**

Eames winced with every bump the van hit, hearing Arthur's slight groans despite their gags. They both had been swiftly gagged and blindfolded as soon as the van doors had closed, and Eames found the sensory deprivations disconcerting. He tensed every time he heard Andrew shift in his seat, wondering if another pistol butt was coming toward his face. His jaw still ached from where he'd been belted when he resisted the blindfold.

The vehicle jerked to a sudden stop, causing Eames to lose his balance and fall forward. Fortunately, he missed his wounded teammate. A door slid open with a bang.

"Alright, let's get 'em out," Andrew ordered.

Eames felt rough hands grab his legs and he cursed silently when his head clipped the side of the doorframe. _Mmph! _The skin on his knees gave out as he tumbled out of the van and onto the hard dirt road. His hope that Arthur would receive more gentle treatment shattered when he heard the point man give a muffled cry of pain as he was dragged next to Eames.

"Go on, get up!"

Eames rolled his eyes behind the blindfold. _Little hard to get into standing position when you're flat out on the ground and your hands are behind your back_, he thought. Hands jerked him to his feet before shoving him through some sort of doorway. His attempts to regain his balance failed as his feet met air. _Oh sh…_ A few painful seconds later, his head was ringing and new bruises were sprouting from his bout with the stairs. Behind him, he heard their captors bringing Arthur down, rather than pushing him down as they had with Eames. _Guess they didn't want him dead just yet_, Eames thought morbidly.

"Never were light on your feet, were you Eames?" Andrew laughed cruelly. "Tie them up and then go hide the van. We want to make sure dear old Dominic won't be interrupting us before we finish dolling them up."

Even with the blindfold, Eames could hear the malicious sneer in the man's voice and felt a chill run up his spine. Not for the first time did he wish he had never crossed paths with Andrew. The man had always had a cruel streak, but that one time all those years ago had made him sadistic. There was no telling what he would do, except that it was guaranteed to hurt…a lot.

"No flexing, now, Eames old boy. Don't think I don't know that little trick."

Eames tried to play innocent, still keeping his arms slightly taut, hoping to retain even the slightest bit of give. In spite of himself, he jumped when he felt warm breath tickle his ear.

"Two can play at this game, Eamsie," Andrew said softly. "If you don't want to cooperate, I guess I'll just go play with your friend over there. 'Course, he's not looking too good. I don't know how long he'll be able to play. And then I'll just come back to you anyway." A fake sigh. "Still no response? The hard way it is then."

Eames gasped, choking on the gag as a fist planted itself in his solar plexus. His body sagged from the force of it, and ropes were quickly yanked tight.

"Hmm…I don't know that mere rope will hold our wily Mr. Eames, Cavendish. He is a thief after all." A jingling sound. "Let's use these instead. Don't even think about moving, Eames. I have a gun on you and have no problem with shooting you or Arthur on the spot. Understand?"

Eames nodded and felt the ropes binding him be cut away. Immediately, the rough rope was replaced by something cool and metallic. A handcuff? His guess was proved accurate as he heard the snap of the cuff around his wrist while the other was attached to some other sort of metal object. His other arm was also cuffed but to something closer to the ground.

"Alright, you can remove the blindfold and the gag, Cavendish."

Eames squinted as the cloth was removed though the light in the room was dim. They were in some sort of small basement—where, he had no idea. He quickly glanced around, searching for Arthur, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw him lying on the ground across the room. He was bound, gagged, and blindfolded and the stain on his shirt was painfully obvious, but at least his chest continued to move up and down. He was still alive. Turning back to himself, Eames glanced down to assess his own situation. His left hand was cuffed to a metal pipe running horizontally against the wall. Sitting down as he was now, the pipe was a little above his head. His other hand was cuffed to another pipe beside him, this one running vertically to the ceiling. There was no way that he could even try to pick the locks and an experimental tug on the cuffs showed there was no wriggling out of them. In effect, he was stuck.

Andrew laughed at Eames' efforts. "Like my little trick?" Eames refused to answer. Unfazed, Andrew just smirked. "That's right, save your voice now. You're going to need it later." He turned to Cavendish. "Let's get the other one set up and then you can go move the van."

"Don't have any more handcuffs, Boss."

"That's alright. I don't think he'll be going anywhere soon." He gestured to a rickety wooden chair in the corner. "Just sit him on that and tie his hands together. That'll be enough." Glancing over to where Eames was glowering, he added callously, "We can always shoot him in the leg. Or better yet, have Eames do the honors. He's already so good at it." He laughed at his sick joke.

"You ba—"

"Ah, ah, ah…Language, Eames, language." Andrew turned back to where Cavendish was about to pick Arthur up. He grabbed Arthur under his shoulders and dragged him to the chair. Through it all, the point man never made a sound, his head lolling on his chest. _Small blessings,_ Eames thought. The move would have been painful had Arthur been conscious.

Andrew shook Arthur's head. "Too bad…he's out. That's alright, we'll wait to wake him up until you get back." A curt nod and Cavendish hurried up the stairs. Andrew settled himself in another chair and started polishing his gun. After a minute, Eames could take the silence no more.

"What do you want with us?"

Andrew glanced up, but continued his work with methodical strokes. "Ah, my dear Eames…you wish to know the reason for my visit. Surely you can't have deceived yourselves into thinking I was just going to let that day fade away into the past, that it all was just a…misunderstanding."

"What happened wasn't our fault!"

"No? It wasn't your fault that I was thrown in prison, leaving no one to watch Sophie?" He stopped his polishing and got up to pace the room. "Her mind was damaged…those years she had spent in foster care…the things they did to her…." His voice shook and he turned to Eames, glaring at him with undisguised hate. "I thought you of all people would understand. Instead, you and your _friends_ stabbed me in the back!" His hand tightened on the gun. "There was no one to protect her anymore. Can you imagine hiding in a dark room all day, watching the door, afraid the men of your nightmares were going to come in and…" His voiced hardened. "Two months in I get a notice saying my sister shot herself in the head. I didn't even get to go to the funeral." He leaned down and pressed the gun to Eames' temple. "And you say it wasn't your fault. She never would have done it if I had been there!" He suddenly screamed, little flecks of spittle spraying Eames' face.

Guilt washed over Eames. He had never forgiven himself for what happened to Sophie. He well knew the pain of losing someone...but he couldn't think about that right now. The past was the past and right now, he and Arthur were in the hands of a sadist. Still, perhaps there was an off-chance that Andrew could reasoned with…

"Look, I'm sorry for what happened to Sophie," he began, trying not to flinch at the touch of the cool steel still pressed against his temple. He took a deep breath before continuing. "You can do whatever you want with me, just let Arthur go. He hardly had anything to do with that job. It's not right for him to suffer your revenge."

Andrew laughed. "Well look who's all so self-sacrificing now! I think I'll take you up on your offer. But I won't be letting Arthur go. See, you're wrong about this being only about revenge. I'm doing a job right now. Fortunately, my boss, shall we say, doesn't care what methods I use as long as I get the results."

Eames swallowed. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, my dear Eames, I am essentially being paid to extract my revenge." He grinned wickedly as Cavendish returned. "Ah, now the fun can begin." He took a small duffel from Cavendish and handed him the gun in return. "How shall we start?" He pulled a long thin knife from the bag. "Perfect." He looked back at Eames with a cruel gleam in his eye.

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Next chapter will have TONS of h/c! And we've been dying to get to the next chapter so it should be posted a LOT sooner than this one. Please review! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N (AtlantisGirl12): SO sorry for yet another delay! I know I promised a ton of you that this was going to be posted a few weeks ago…Unfortunately, my plans got derailed as I started school again. At least it wasn't a three month delay this time, right? : ( Sorry! Just as a heads up, this semester is going to be cra-azy for me…I have a ton of papers to write, including three chapters of a YA novel for my fiction class. So, chapters once again will probably be slow in coming. Don't worry though; this story will not be abandoned! Ever! We both love it too much for that to happen. Anyway, thank you guys so much for your patience/favoriting/revewing…it means a lot and definitely encourages us! :) Enjoy this next installment! **

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**A/N (Feathered Filly): Wow! You guys are absolutely amazing! Thank you all for the continued support of this story. I feel awful for not being able to respond back to you all individually, because I appreciate each and every review. My personal and home life has been extremely, EXTREMELY hectic and I've been in charge of training a new person at my work (which has been very frustrating). Anyway, here's chapter six! Hope you all enjoy. =)**

**Echoes of the Past **

**Chapter 6**

Eames strained against the handcuffs as Andrew approached the still unconscious point man. "Don't do this, Andrew! You back away or—"

"Or what?" Andrew taunted. "Please. You're in no position to be making threats."

"Cobb will—"

"Cobb will do nothing. Face the facts. You're playing by my rules now, Eames old boy. And there's nothing you can do about it." He turned to Cavendish. "Is he awake?"

Cavendish gave Arthur's head a sharp jerk but elicited no response. "Nope. Still out." Andrew smiled. "Let's rectify that, shall we?" He motioned to his associate. "Press on his wound." To Eames' horror, Cavendish leaned over and roughly ground his palm onto the open, still bleeding wound. The effect was immediate; Arthur jerked and let out a sharp groan. His eyelids fluttered as he began to regain consciousness. Running short on patience, Andrew yanked Arthur's head up from where it was slumped on his chest.

"Welcome back, Arthur," he smiled. "We were worried there for a moment. Eames did a real number on you."

Now fully aware, the point man glared at him, the gag preventing him from speaking. Eames spoke up in his defense. "Funny, I seem to recall you and your henchman being the ones shoving us around and tying us up."

Andrew leaned over the point man, speaking softly into his ear. "But I wasn't the one who shot him now, was I?"

"It was an accident!" Eames shouted. He caught Arthur's eyes, hoping that the point man believed him.

"Be that as it may, he could die from this wound alone. He's already gone over an hour without medical treatment. And in this lovely Mombassa environment, I'm thinking infection will set in, say, a lot sooner than you think. Combine that with blood loss?"

"What do you want?" Eames growled, determined to draw Andrew's attention back to him and off Arthur.

"Let's start with some information. Your team did a job about a month or two ago, an extraction. My employer would like you to provide the details of the job—what you stole, who you provided it to. He also wants all of your equipment and outside contacts."

"Is that all?" Eames scoffed sarcastically. "And what would we get in return?"

Andrew crossed his arms. "My employer is aware of our past history. If you cooperate, he gave me limitations on my methods. If you make our negotiation difficult, however, these limitations will not be put into effect. In other words, anything goes." To emphasize his point, Andrew roughly dug his fingers into Arthur's shoulder. The point man gave no outward sign of pain other than a small tightening of his jaw that Eames noticed.

"At least tell us who your employer is first," Eames said.

"Greenberg."

Eames hid the dismay welling up inside him. Greenberg was a notoriously shady company that often dealt in the black market. They had no scruples as to whom they worked with as long as it resulted in them acquiring a profit. He, Cobb, and Arthur had been hired to extract important information from CEO Dave Greenberg regarding various aspects of the business, such as contacts, meeting locations, buyers, etc. Arthur had then delivered the information to a private company known for theirpeacekeeping enterprises, who planned to use it to bring down Greenberg. Were Greenberg to know the details of the extraction, he could take measures to protect the company and the job would be pointless.

Eames' gut churned. He wasn't the noblest of men; in fact, he often dabbled in things less than legal. But even he couldn't assist a company that often aided terrorists and mercenaries, many of whom killed women and children. At the same time, being in the hands of a man who not only had a vendetta against them but could also employ whatever means necessary didn't sound like a picnic either. He raised his eyes, catching Arthur's steady and unwavering gaze.

"So what's it going to be?" Andrew's voice cut in. "You know there's really only one choice. You give us what we want or you both die. It's really that simple."

Eames clenched his fists and glanced at Arthur. The point man was still gagged, but his eyes spoke clearly. _Don't tell them anything. _"You'll just kill us both anyway," Eames retorted.

Andrew chuckled lightly and a glint shone in his eye. "Maybe, maybe not. But I can tell you that one thing is for certain. If you don't cooperate, your buddy here will be hurting more than he already is. Haven't you done enough to him, Eames? You really want his death on your conscience just because you wanted to delay the inevitable?"

The forger looked back at Arthur, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt at the resolve he saw in his eyes. He wished fervently that Cobb would burst through the door, guns blazing, and end this nightmare.

"Well?"

Reluctantly, he met Andrew's cold gaze. "No."

Andrew's lips curved into a cruel smile. "I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way, then." He snapped his fingers. "Cavendish, give our point man a taste of what you can do." He plopped down in a nearby chair and lounged back, carefully watching Eames' reactions.

Cavendish smirked and drew his fist back, planting it hard on the side of Arthur's face. As his head snapped to the side, another fist landed on his uninjured side. Eames closed his eyes, but couldn't block out the sound of Arthur trying to control his ragged breathing through his nose, the gag still in place preventing deep breaths.

_Smack._

A muffled groan.

_Smack._

Eames was now staring a hole in the floor.

_Smack._

"How much more do you think he can take, Eames?" The forger refused to look up. "Hey!" Andrew stalked across the room in a few strides and yanked his chin up. "How much more will he have to take because of your stubbornness? Look at him!"

Slowly, Eames raised his gaze, and saw Cavendish helpfully holding Arthur's head up by his hair to offer a better view. The point man's lip was swelling and bleeding and several bruises were already beginning to blossom. His eyes, though half open, still glinted with a hint of defiance. Eames felt a surge of pride. Arthur wasn't done yet. They could hold on. Cobb would be coming any minute now. They could hold on until then.

"Forget it. We're not telling you anything."

An unreadable expression crossed Andrew's face. "If that's the way you want to play, so be it. I won't complain." He violently shoved Eames' head back so that it cracked against the wall. He turned to Cavendish. "Uncover the water tank." The henchman dropped his grip on Arthur's head and crossed the room to where a large metal container stood. He shoved the lid, causing it to fall to the ground with a loud bang.

Andrew tossed the gun over to his accomplice before untying the ropes that bound Arthur to the chair but kept the point man's hands tied. He roughly dragged Arthur over to the tank and held him before it ominously. "Still won't talk?"

Eames steeled his voice. "Nope." He hated how callous his voice sounded but hoped Arthur was still lucid enough to understand why he was doing it.

"Alrighty then." Andrew suddenly shoved the point man into the water. Without any warning and with the gag still on, Arthur had been unable to draw any kind of breath. Now he bucked and struggled in Andrew's iron grip, a rush of adrenaline giving him momentary strength. All too soon, his movements began to weaken and the tension began to leave his muscles. He was drowning.

"Stop! You'll kill him!" Eames shouted. He strained against the handcuffs, barely feeling the sharp metal cutting into his skin.

Andrew glanced at Cavendish. "I guess we can't do that just yet, huh." He yanked Arthur out of water and threw him to the floor. In a rare display of mercy, he also cut off the gag. _Probably to make sure Arthur doesn't die, _Eames thought bitterly.

At first, Arthur didn't move—only lay there limply. For several awful seconds, Eames thought the younger man was dead. Then suddenly, Arthur gasped, filling his starved lungs with precious air. Wracking coughs shook his body as he expelled water that had gone through the gag and his nose. Even from across the room, Eames could see that the water was tinted red. After several minutes, Arthur's coughing spell lessened and he lay there exhaustedly, his head lolling on the dirty stone floor and his eyes closed.

"Will you give it up now, Eames?" Andrew leaned against the tank. "Your pitiful display of bravado is only making your teammate suffer. I have to admit I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd last long when someone you're close to was being hurt. I guess you don't care about him after all."

Eames felt fury rising in his chest, but he fought to keep himself calm. This was a game of wits and he'd have to beat Andrew at his own game. "Well maybe I don't. He's an annoying little runt anyway."

Andrew raised an eyebrow at the forger's sudden turnabout. "You certainly seemed to care before."

"I was afraid of what Cobb would do after he killed you and found out that I hadn't protected his precious little point man. Cobb's the best extractor in the business; I wouldn't want to lose my best source of income. He's weird about these things…loyalty and all that."

Andrew tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So you honestly don't care what I do to the kid do you?"

Eames swallowed but kept his voice level. "Not a smidge."

"Hear that, Arthur?" Andrew bent over the point man's head. "Your pal Eames doesn't care about you at all! In fact…." He grabbed Arthur's arms and held him over the water. "He wouldn't mind if I do this to you again!" With that he dropped him into the water once more. This time the struggles lasted less. Eames fought to keep his eye contact with Andrew unwavering, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur was slowly dying. He couldn't give in…not now. Unfortunately he had underestimated Andrew's apparent lack of caring of whether or not Eames did or didn't care about Arthur.

"Okay, okay! Just stop it!"

Andrew quickly hauled the point man out. "Your wish is my command." He cruelly toed the coughing point man. "Just in time too. Guess you like him after all." He chuckled. "As you still won't cooperate, I suppose I can just continue on with my revenge. Thank you for that, Eames. I was afraid that icky little clause in the contract would prevent me from doing so, but your uncooperation is cooperating nicely for me." He turned to Cavendish. "Strip him. We'll see how long it takes to freeze in an African basement."

Cavendish handed his boss the gun and proceeded to remove Arthur's outer layer of clothing, leaving him only in his boxers and bloodstained t-shirt.

"Good." Andrew handed him the gun back and walked over to where the duffel bag rested on an old wooden table. He rummaged through it and pulled out a shiny silver case. "Ah, here it is." Opening it, he removed a syringe and some vials of clear liquid. "I'm not a chemist by trade, but I did learn a few tricks here and there," he remarked as he mixed various amounts of solution in a separate glass. "This is my masterpiece—Brand X."

"Brand X?" Eames snorted, hiding his uneasiness. "That's the best you could come up with?"

Anger crossed Andrew's features. "You won't be making fun of it for long, Eames. Simple though the name may be, its effects are quite potent. They can cause death if the antidote isn't given within 24 hours." He filled the syringe and tapped its sides, before glancing at Eames. "I suggest you begin counting now."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N (AtlantisGirl12): Hey guys! Guess who's back? Many apologies for the huge delay in updating. We've both been super, super busy. For me, college has just been consuming my life with all the projects and papers that I have to complete. Thanks so much for your patience! I've still been getting alerts/favs for this story and it's wonderful to know that people are still reading. :) Anyway, enough of my ramblings. On to the story! :)**

Echoes of the Past

Chapter 7

Eames stared in despair as Andrew held the syringe before him. He looked down to where Arthur still lay soaking wet on the floor. His eyes were closed, the dark eyelashes a stark contrast against his too pale skin. The forger swallowed hard. Arthur wouldn't last much longer.

"I'm surprised this decision is so difficult for you, Eames," Andrew commented. "Your friend's life for a small amount of information?" He turned to Arthur. "Hear that, Arthur? Eames here doesn't think your life is worth saving! Apparently, you're expendable." He laughed.

Eames struggled against his bonds. He was thankful that Arthur was unconscious and didn't hear Andrew's cruel words. Yet, Eames had heard them. The words stung. What was Arthur's life worth? He had never really gotten along with the point man; their "playful" banter had more than once erupted into heated arguments. And even after having worked with Arthur off and on for a couple of years, Eames still hardly knew anything about the younger man except that he wore suits, was OCD about details and occasionally liked a glass of red wine.

"Time's running out, Eames," Andrew broke into the forger's thoughts. "Make your decision."

Eames glanced back at the syringe. If he told, Arthur's life would be saved and perhaps he could atone for injuring him by saving his life now. Yet…if he told, scores of other people could die indirectly as a result as Greenberg would be able to continue their illegal activities, funding terrorists and cruel rebel groups. Arthur or possibly scores of people he didn't know and would never meet? There was always a chance that these people wouldn't die, but Arthur surely would without him sharing the information.

"Time's up. Wake him up," Andrew ordered Cavendish, kicking one of Arthur's legs with his foot.

"Wait!" Eames shouted.

Cavendish stopped from where he was about to give Arthur a few slaps across the face.

The forger gritted his teeth. "If I tell you, you'll let us go? Alive?"

Andrew smiled. "Of course."

"And you won't harm us any further?"

"Agreed." Andrew tapped the syringe against the palm of his hand lazily. "Now tell me the information."

A deep breath. "Okay." In a rush, he told Andrew all the information they had extracted from the Greenberg CEO and how their client was planning to use it against the company. "That's all I know," he finished. "Now let us go."

Andrew switched off the tape recorder he had used while Eames was talking and tossed it to Cavendish, who put it in the duffle. "Thank you, Eames, for sharing that with us. My client will be very pleased." He walked over to Arthur as Eames watched him nervously. "Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to let you go."

"You promised, Andrew!" Eames shouted. Inside he felt sick. He had known that it would be a long shot to believe Andrew would just let them go like that, but he had hoped.

A grin slowly formed on the man's face. "Yes, I did, didn't I? Never fear, Eames, I never go back on my word. I would keep the promise I made to you just now, but unfortunately, there's another promise that superseded this one." His face hardened. "The promise to make you suffer for what you did to my sister."

Eames felt a chill run through him. Things were about to get much worse.

Andrew kicked Arthur sharply, eliciting a moan from the point man as he struggled back to consciousness. "I swore I would hurt you in the same way you hurt me," Andrew continued. "Had any of you siblings, I would find them and kill them, just as Sophia was killed by you." He sighed dramatically. "Alas, Cobb has no sibling relations and yours has already died. As for Arthur, well, it seems he has no family at all. Couldn't even find a mother or father." He smirked. "It seems no one liked him as a kid, but I did find two people who care for him as if he were part of their family."

Eames's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?" he whispered.

Andrew knelt beside the point man. "None of you may think you have siblings, but you and Cobb both have someone you treat as a brother. A dear, beloved brother," he taunted. "Arthur."

At his name, Arthur's eyes fluttered, and his head moved slightly. Eames was glad to see he was slightly aware as it meant he was still alive but he feared it wouldn't last.

"Well, that's where you're wrong," he tossed back. "In no way do I think of Arthur as a brother, much less a dear and beloved one." He snorted. "The chap is so full of it, I can't stand him. Cobb has to pull us apart almost every single day—almost came to blows once."

Andrew smiled, unperturbed. "Don't think your bluff is going to work, Eames. You've already tried the 'I don't like him' route."

"Oh yeah?" Eames felt his desperation rising. "Well, what if I was lying to you earlier? About the Greenberg job? What will your client do if you give him faulty information?"

"Oh that." Andrew waved him off. "I'm quite sure most if not all of what you told me was a lie. You're a forger, after all and probably were only hoping to buy yourself some time so that dear Dominic could rescue you both." His eyes glinted with cruel mirth. "No, I'll give the information to Greenberg and be long gone before he realizes it's a lie. But you can't worm your way out of this one, Eames. I will have my revenge on you all." He readied the needle. "You and Cobb will have lost one of the only people you care about, just as I have. And Arthur…" He paused. "Well, I suppose Arthur will get the worse end of the deal as he'll be dead." He laughed. "And now for the finale. You, my dear Eames, will do the honors."

"What? You've got to be joking, you sick, twisted piece of—"

"Enough!" Andrew cut him off furiously. "You will do this, or I will kill Arthur in such a way that he will be begging for death but it will be hours, even days, off." He glared into Eames's eyes. The forger saw the madness in there.

"Fine," he said, his voice raspy and hoarse.

Andrew looked at him unsmilingly. All taunting had been thrown aside. He jerked his head at Cavendish. "Move him," he ordered, pulling out his gun. He turned back to Eames. "You try anything and I'll blow his brains out," Andrew threatened, pointing the gun at Arthur's head.

Eames nodded wordlessly. He still held hope that even if he was forced to inject Arthur, a cure could be found. There would be no coming back from a headshot at point blank range. He held back a wince and Cavendish unlocked the handcuffs and pulled them off his abraded wrists. The henchman yanked him over to the pole and handcuffed one of his hands to it, leaving the other free. _Not that it mattered_, Eames thought morosely. There was nothing with which he could pick the lock and no way that the handcuff was coming off that pole. Cavendish looked up at his boss, waiting for instructions.

"Now bring him." The henchman grabbed Arthur by his shoulders and dropped his upper body into Eames' lap.

Eames swallowed. The cuts and bruises were even more vivid up close against Arthur's stark white face. Arthur's eyes fluttered open but were full of obvious confusion. Andrew handed the gun to Cavendish and leaned over Arthur.

"Ah, you're awake. Too bad, Eames was about to inject you. I think he was hoping he could do it without you knowing."

Arthur's eyes moved back and forth and Eames hoped only that he was too out of it to realize what was going on.

"I guess Eames was right," Andrew continued. "I guess he doesn't like you after all." He held out the syringe. "Do it."

Eames took it and hesitated only for a moment. He was doing the right thing, he tried to tell himself. Arthur would surely die otherwise. This way provided a chance. _Hurry Cobb_, he thought. Swiftly, he brought the needle down on Arthur's neck and depressed the plunger.

Andrew grabbed the needle back. "Don't need you using this as a lock pick." He tossed the needle across the room. "Now we just wait to watch the show. I've never tried it on a human subject before, but the rats certainly didn't like it."

Eames barely heard him, so fixed was he on Arthur, who lay as still as death. Suddenly, the point man's eyes flew open before squeezing shut as his face contorted in agony. Eames felt his heart stop as Arthur's muscles contracted and seized violently. Eames tried desperately to hold onto the younger man with his one free hand, afraid his thrashing would do even more damage to his serious injuries. He could feel the sickening sense of broken ribs shifting beneath his hand as Arthur convulsed. A scream tore out of the point man's clenched teeth, the sound tearing at Eames. Finally, the contractions slowed and Arthur went limp. Eames quickly put a hand on Arthur's chest, breathing out a sigh of relief to feel the shallow rise and fall. He was still alive.

Andrew watched the two of them for a moment. "They won't be going anywhere," he said, turning to Cavendish. "We need to go up and check for Cobb—see if the contacts have seen anything." Cavendish nodded and headed to the truck. Andrew turned to Eames. "Enjoy your time while you can," he smirked, before heading upstairs.

Eames waited until he heard the door close before turning to Arthur. The point man was still unconscious. "Arthur, I'm so sorry," Eames whispered. He lifted up the bloody t-shirt. Unsurprisingly, the wound had started bleeding again, albeit sluggishly. _Probably because there wasn't much left in him_, Eames thought wryly. He pressed a hand to the wound, causing a sharp moan from Arthur. "Sorry, mate…It's got to be done."

Eames' legs ached from Arthur's weight but he welcomed it, hoping the physical discomfort would help pay for what he did. He watched Arthur's slack face. He had forgotten how young the kid actually was. In his suits and slicked back hair, Arthur often looked and acted like he was much older. But now, in his still-wet t-shirt and shorts and his hair in disarray, he looked even younger than his 25 years. One of Arthur's arm muscles twitched violently and Eames gently ran his hand up and down the younger man's forearm, trying to smooth away the undoubtedly painful contraction.

Leaning his head back against the pillar, Eames closed his eyes. Sitting here with Arthur slowly dying in his arms…it brought back painful memories. "Did I ever tell you about my kid brother?" Eames spoke into the silent room. "Colin and I, we were close. Pap died when I was twelve, Colin was only eight. Mum was sick, so I had to take care of them. Kid looked up to me. Reminds me of you, not that you would ever look up to me," Eames snorted, looking down at Arthur. He tightened his grip around the point man with his knees. "But he was always day-dreaming, looking off into space. He was a thinker, that kid, just like you." He took a breath. "But Mum died when he was fifteen. I was always busy working, sometimes thieving when I had to so I could make ends meet. I took Colin with me one time on a job." He banged his head against the wall.

"Man was I stupid! I thought it would be fun, do things together again like we used to. He was just supposed to wait outside while I went in and grabbed some stuff. But no, he wanted to come along. I didn't know it, but the guy I was stealing from wasn't away like I thought. Had a .45 he kept right next to his bed. Must've heard us sneak in, because next thing we knew bullets were flying. Colin and I ran outside and down the block into an alley…" Eames closed his eyes in pain. "I didn't know he had been shot. He just gave me a silly grin and said it had been fun. That's when I saw the blood coming from his mouth. I grabbed him and held him in my arms. He had been shot in the side, like you."

Eames stared sightlessly across the room. "He didn't even get to say anything else. Just died, right there in my arms." He clenched the fingers of his cuffed hand relentlessly, relishing the pain it brought. "I killed him. Just like I killed you," he whispered brokenly.

"Not…dead…."

Eames opened his eyes, startled at the sound of Arthur's voice, hoarse from pain.

"Arthur!"

**A/N (me again lol): I was going to add on to this chapter, but I decided this was a good place to stop. mwuhahaha (actually, it was more because I'm exhausted from school and this update would be delayed even more if I tried to add on to it). Sorry? :-\ I hope you enjoyed it in spite of the cliffy! If you don't mind, please review! It's so nice to hear from you guys, especially if you have comments/suggestions/etc. Thanks so much for reading! **


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